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Chapter Text

He held a silver sword in his hand, deftly dodging the brutishly approaching wind and snow.

The sorceress with jet-black hair chanted a long Elvish spell, opening her arms wide to conjure a massive magic circle.

They succeeded, they caught it, they bound it.

The Djinn.

Then came the wish.

The sorceress, with her dreamy violet eyes wide open, voiced her wish out loud.

Soon, all was calm.

The Djinn found its freedom, disappearing into the pale blue sky with a long trail of gas.

He and she sat atop the wreckage of a shattered hull.

She asked, “What about you, Geralt? Have your feelings for me changed?”

He was silent for so long that a hint of wariness began to appear in those violet eyes.

Or, perhaps one could even call it dread.

Her face grew ever paler, her tenderly pink lips trembling uncontrollably. He watched her, for a brief moment genuinely concerned she might curl up into herself. But no, on the contrary, she straightened up.

He finally spoke those words.

“I’m sorry. I can’t find the feelings I once had for you anymore.”

Void.

He remembered feeling void when he spoke those words. Emptiness was the only sensation he could find within himself, a complete void.

The tone and the words he spoke still hovered in his mind. Low and soft, they left his mouth, not even forming mist before dissipating into the cold air.

What did she say then? What was her expression?

Damn it, he couldn’t remember.

He only remembered the sun that day, hanging over the continuous snow-capped mountains, like frostbitten persimmons, possessing only the appearance of tepid orange-red flames but unable to radiate the slightest warmth.

Void.

He woke up, golden cat eyes opening, his mouth slightly agape but no sound came forth.

A man forever insatiable.

An emptiness that could never be filled.

A husk that had been gnawed clean by something, with nothing left inside.

"Uh-huh, I see you’re awake."

The female voice was lazy, whispering softly in his ear, full of strong implications. Accompanied by the voice was a warm and soft body, a hand reaching to his thigh, skillfully rotating and circling near the groin.

He couldn’t help but groan and turned his face.

The tolerance for magic in Kovir allowed the use of magic to penetrate every aspect of life. Now, in this lavish and spacious bedroom, the latest style of magical candles is ostentatiously adorned on the walls, ingeniously adjusted to the pink hue of oleander—said to symbolize spring, the most aphrodisiac color in nature.

Propped on her elbow, the woman’s plump breasts pressed against his shoulder. Her blond hair was oiled, emitting a rich laurel scent.

Her light green eyes flickered in the lamplight, mixing into a suggestive rose color, burning with desire.

He reached out, effortlessly lifting her onto his lap, his cock already half-hard. The woman straightened her body, grinding her now hot and glowing lower body against it. The folds of her lascivious cleft continued dripping, the little lips lightly touching the hard tip, then sliding wetly.

In just two or three movements, his cock was fully hard. The massive erection pressed against her stomach, eagerly demanding and seeking.

With a slightly forceful grip, he anchored her swaying hips, smoothly sliding his huge erection into her small opening.

Her hot passage stretched along its entry, the internal folds multiple, far exceeding a woman’s normal physiological structure. Each fold wrapped around the shaft, tearing it, soothing it, bringing intense tingling stimulation.

As he finally reached that peak, and smoothed out every fold in full, he filled her, and they both sighed loudly.

The blonde - sorceress Lya was a rare beauty.

Upon arriving in Kovir, Geralt heard rumors about her - women gritted their teeth, cursing her as a harlot and whore who would spread her legs for any male creature. Men praised her magically blessed miraculous vagina - mainly referring to the sailors who arrived at the port from long, tedious voyages at sea, eager with red eyes to release their accumulated semen in any woman, or the hungry men in the slave market, defeated and captured slaves, strong and naked, working every day, lacking women to satisfy their desires.

Unlike her peers, she rarely chose to share a bed with aristocratic men. Therefore, another legend about her was that she was a man’s touchstone. Any man invited into her bed must have something exceptional about him.

Geralt was inclined to agree with this.

Oddly enough, Lya was a longtime friend of Triss Merigold.

“When I had just graduated from the academy, I was young, released from strict discipline, full of desires, eager to try different lifestyles. I met Lya, we got along well…oh no, Geralt, not like that, Lya and I, we never shared a bed. She is a thorough heterosexual, almost a worshiper of the phallus. she had spent much time and magic on her delicate little hole, undergoing many creative magical modifications. She said she carved her vagina to enjoy real orgasms brought by a real penis, not some poor substitutes.”

“Do you think Triss will come back now?” the woman asked breathlessly.

Honestly, Geralt wasn’t sure of the exact time. The only thing he remembered was the pale autumn sunlight , seen when he pulled the curtains up, before two rounds of long and intense lovemaking on the bed.

His enhanced sexual capabilities made the blonde claim she had reached unprecedented orgasmic heights, which pleased Geralt.

“Um, I’m not sure,” he stroked her dangling hair while panting, “does it bother you?”

“Oh, Geralt, she’s my friend.” Lya laughed, “Of course, I would be bothered.”

“Friend -” he roared lowly, eagerly and impatiently, “Believe me, she won’t mind it at all.”

Seemingly to punish the her distraction, Geralt grabbed her hips and thrust upwards maliciously. She jerked her head back abruptly, letting out a loud scream.

If it weren’t for Geralt holding her tightly, the violent thrust just now would have been enough to make her shudder all over as if she’d been electrocuted, trembling and fainting.

Her deliberately magically modified vagina was full of sensitive points hidden in every fold, and if a penis rubbed it gently, it brought an ultimate ticklish sensation.

If the man was too rough, she would quickly reach orgasm with a loud scream.

So she laid down the ground rules from the beginning. They had to prolong this game as much as possible, making his penis tease her lascivious and hungry passage to its maximum, but not satisfying it right away.

While others might use ropes, handcuffs, and other pleasure tools to achieve this goal, Lya and Geralt’s agreement was not written that way.

They paused and stopped their movements. The air, as if enchanted, thick and tense, crackled with flames. Desire balanced on the fragile, trembling line between extreme craving and suppression.

The thread was as thin as a spider’s silk, as if it would be cut by the roughness of either of them in the next second.

But their wills vied with each other, neither willing to be the first to surrender.

So they watched the thread tremble between them, as if a cat’s paw was scratching teasingly on the heart’s tender flesh, oblivious to the almost insane torment of the two being tormented.

Their connecting parts were hot and tight, wave after wave of throbbing coming from that massive cock, light and not so light, completely falling on the folds of the woman.

Her magically enhanced nipples were like frozen cream cherries, proudly erect, and he urgently wanted to reach out to touch them, but her ass was in his hands, letting him pinch her delicate buttocks vigorously, and eliciting delighted gasps, “Oh, Geralt, oh, Geralt, pinch me, rub me, please, tease my lewd buttocks as much as you like.”

He complied with her wishes. She also eagerly reciprocated. She lowered her body, allowing those two snow-white bunny-like breasts to tease across his nose, his face, his eyelashes, and his eager lips.

He raised his upper body from the bed, opened his mouth, went after those two pink nipples, about to take a bite, and she slyly laughed, shook her body, leaving his mouth just out of reach.

They tormented each other, as well as enjoyed each other.

Occasionally, due to one’s suppressed moan, they trembled vigorously, a few violent twitches when too hard, followed by stillness, with their ears clearly hearing their heavy panting and the dripping sound of their joining fluids.

Time? What the hell was time?

In this sacred moment of pleasure, time did not exist.

Friends did not exist.

Boundaries did not exist.

Past did not exist.

Everything did not exist.

Void.
--------------------------------
As dusk approached, the last trace of warm orange faded from the western sky, overtaken by a vast expanse of dove grey. The magic lamps along the streets gradually lit up, casting a warm glow under which the daytime vendors packed up for home, replaced by children selling juice, roses, matches, and lanterns along the streets.

Triss hurried along the streets of Kovir, moving faster than usual.

Despite Kovir being one of the rare cities tolerant of magic, she still chose to walk home rather than use a portal. Normally, she indulged herself in the pleasure of wandering leisurely through the bustling city streets. After experiencing the oppressive policies in Novigrad, the freedom to walk with her hair down and proudly show her face as a sorceress was an invaluable experience.

But today was different; she walked briskly because she had good news to share with her lover.

Her lover. Her lover, Geralt.

The thought that these words could be joined together made her lips curl up involuntarily, her steps becoming even more buoyant.

Countless nights, she dreamd that those powerful arms tightly embraced her, those golden cat eyes hungered for her, and that massive phallus twitched inside her canal, as if she were his entire world, his everything.

She woke up in a cold and empty bed, feeling hot and empty between her legs, with all the desire nowhere to hide.

She once thought she could never have him again. He recovered from amnesia, remembered everything, and he remembered... Yennefer.

Yennefer. Yennefer. Yennefer.

It was always about Yennefer.

Her friend, Yennefer.

She had fantasized countless times, if the sorceress in Linde hadn’t been Yennefer, but her, if she had been the first sorceress Geralt met, would she have been the one to write a legendary love story with him?

She would become that soft yet prominent thorn in Geralt's heart, constantly causing him pain, addicting him like a possession, making him unable to forget or to leave. He would spend nights making love to her, willingly giving his all to satisfy her desires. He would regard her as the most important woman in his life; no any other woman in the world could compare to her.

Such wild thoughts always excited her, making her heart race and her cheeks flush with color, like a teenage girl experiencing her first crush, giggling and reminiscing all day long because a handsome guy gave her an extra glance.

She was certain she would do better than Yennefer. She wouldn't torment or control him like Yennefer did, bossing him around, speaking harshly to him. Gods, that’s Geralt! When he was with her, he was like a shining god. How could Yennefer bear to treat him like a puppy?

She was absolutely different from her. She would show Geralt that not all sorceresses were selfish and arrogant like Yennefer. Triss, unlike her friends, was sweeter, more gentle, more kind, more considerate.

She was the woman he was supposed to love.

Fate had finally given her such an opportunity.

She recalled that moment in their lighthouse, Geralt looking at her, only her in his eyes, with red hair and blue eyes, begging her to stay.

Then they made love. He pressed her against the railing and passionately had sex with her. The salty sea breeze passed by their ears, making a splashing sound. Sweat dripped from his marble-sculptured chest, tracing shiny lines along the scars. His eyes watched her, his lips slightly curved.

He looked at her, made love to her, only her.

Although they had had intense and beautiful sex before, it was when he did not remember Yennefer—she always felt like she was stealing something.

The lighthouse was different. He had fully remembered Yennefer, remembered their past, yet he still chose to hold her in his arms, enter her, make love to her.

He loved her. He finally let go of Yennefer.

She had won.

Not only did she get Geralt, but she also defeated her friend Yennefer.

Just the thought of this was enough to make her gasping for breath, almost soaking wet.

The lighthouse sex would be the most cherished scene in her life. She treasured it in her heart, taking it out from time to time to savor, enjoying herself the lingering happiness.

Her mansion was located in the northeastern corner, not far from the palace, on a long street dotted with upscale residences. The gray-brown granite walls were covered in green vines, with yellow or pink flowers blooming here and there. In the northwest corner of the continent, such vibrant greenery was precious and could only be achieved through magic. The ability to maintain this appearance for an extended period was enough to prove the wealth and luxury of the owner.

She entered through the main gate, briskly walked through the front garden, and into the lobby on the ground floor.

She took off her coat, left it on the couch near the door, and started to go upstairs.

Her steps were light, eager to see her lover, with countless birds singing in her heart.

Should she tell him the good news first and then make love, or should she let him pounce on her, fuck her against the wall, and then share it with him?

She smiled to herself, imagining that scene, feeling a trickle of heat gathering between her legs.

She walked through the corridor, approaching their bedroom, and placed her hand on the door handle.

Chapter Text

"GERALT! Lya! What the hell is this?"

Triss screamed, but before Geralt could roll over, and before Lya could move away from him, a fierce magical shockwave had squarely hit them both.

Lya was thrown into the air, landing heavily on the carpet, emitting a painful moan. Fortunately, the carpet was made of high-quality sea monster fluff from the islands, thick and soft, so Geralt did not hear the sound of bones breaking.

He hurriedly traced the Quen Sign, blue and yellow magical light flashing around him, taking a full half minute to completely dissipate.

Triss stood at the door, her complexion pale, making the freckles on her cheeks stand out all the more. But she controlled herself, making no further aggressive moves.

According to the stories Geralt had heard from Dandelion, Triss's reaction was far more gentle and restrained than that of a jealous husband.

He sat up from the bed, stepped down, and bent over to pick up the clothes from the floor. Walking over to Yennefer, he covered her with the emerald green dress, helping her to stand up. Lya's interest in magical research was entirely focused on some specific fields, so much so that she was even incapable of performing such a minor trick as conjuring clothes.

As he did so, Triss's hand clenched and then relaxed, her fingers flickering with blue sparks.

Her blue eyes brimmed with tears, her gaze on Geralt full of anger and sadness.

He did not deliberately avoid her eyes; when he stood up, when he walked around the foot of the bed, when he helped Lya, his gaze inadvertently met hers.

She expected to see something.

Shame, guilt. Pain. Those things she had once drawn from him, to her ecstatic and screaming delight, the weight of a soul.

She expected him to kneel on the ground in agony, tears streaming down his face, humbly begging for her forgiveness.

Oh, she would certainly forgive him. Just the sight of his tears was enough to cause her pain; she would hold him, kiss away his tears, and tell him she loved him.They would fuck their brains out against the wall,or on the carpet, or more meaningful, in the lighthouse.

Their lighthouse,their promised land, their eternal Eden.

They even spent their first night in Kovir atop a lighthouse.

Just thinking of that night, she could forgive him anything.

But there was none. No apologies, no regrets, and certainly no tears.

In his golden, elliptical pupils, there was no sparkle of light, no shadows. He was as calm as if he had just completed a simple witcher's task, a Kikimora, or a Drowner.

Lya opened her mouth, facing Triss, as if she wanted to explain something. But she changed her mind, staring at Geralt with an expression so foolishly stupefied it was almost imbecilic.

"H—ho—how do you manage to calm down so quickly? Your cock is fucking so hard in me like the fucking hardest rock just one second ago. "

"You mean like this?" He shook his cock, still half hard while he began to put on his shirt.

When he did all this, there was an air of casual shamelessness and easygoingness emanating from him.

But when his head popped out from the shirt, his eyes held no desire. They were as clear as the first pale sunlight on the coldest morning of winter, landing on a barren, lifeless snow-capped mountain.

From Lya’s experience—well maybe she wasn’t very experienced with interrupted sex, but overall-- anyway,men shouldn’t be able to withdraw so quickly from unfinished course and appear so calm.

Her face still flushed, her body still dripping, she could hear her heartbeat in her ears, like thunder in the hot afternoon of summer.

Lya felt a surge of unjust anger and jealousy.

But she forgot, there was a woman on the scene who had even more reason to feel angry and resentful.

"Maybe you expect me to apologize for interrupting your pleasant fun?" Triss screamed, "Dream on."

Lya quickly got dressed without saying a word. She did feel ashamed.

They should have sensibly stopped before their last sex; she had already noted the urgency of time. But damn it, that man, the feeling of him in her body was so damn good, it made her forget everything.

Perhaps she should leave. The portal was right at her fingertips, but leaving without a word seemed so strange. She hesitated before speaking, "Uhm, I mean, sorry..."

Geralt, who had been fastening his belt, paused and looked up at her, puzzled. "Why are you apologizing, Lya?"

Her stammering was interrupted, and like Triss, she stared at him in surprise.

That face, usually devoid of expressions, yet somehow always strangely comforting, was now filled with confusion.

He turned to Triss, directing the question towards her, "Do you think she needs to apologize, Triss?"

Fire seemed about to erupt from Triss’s eyes. "Of course, she bloody needs to apologize, what the hell is wrong with your head, Geralt? Not just her, but you owe apologies as well, a thousand of them."

Geralt's brows furrowed slightly. He pondered.

"But, you didn’t apologize to Yennefer, right?" he said quietly, "I remember I didn’t either."

Triss’s mouth hung open but no sound came out. She seemed as if someone had suddenly hoodwinked her and struck her with a blunt muffled hit, left her speechless.

Lya suddenly felt there was no need to leave immediately.

She glanced between Geralt and Triss, curious, "Yennefer? Is that the sorceress mentioned in the ballads? Raven hair, eyes of violet, and what was it? Something about scent, a distinctive taste, I remember..."

"Gooseberries and lilac," Geralt responded.

Lya looked at him. He was still calm, nonchalant. But there was a strange hollowness in his voice.

"So, that’s Yennefer? You and her, bound by fate, chasing each other, destined lovers?"

"Once, yes," Geralt replied, "until I fell in love with Triss."

He looked at Triss, whose tense demeanour slowly relaxed. She clasped her chest, as if to melt under his gaze. She choked out, "Oh, Geralt."

Geralt smiled, opening his arms, and Triss rushed into his embrace.

Lya was sure her presence was no longer needed here.

She did not use the portal - it was risky for her insufficiently chaotic self to use a portal - as she walked to the front door, she heard a loud scream coming from the second-floor window.

She suspected Triss did it on purpose, she wanted her to hear it.

She was telling her that Geralt was hers, hers, hers. Even if Geralt slept with someone else, she was the one he acknowledged as his lover.

Lya cursed under her breath, not only because of Triss's demonstration, but also her hungry cunt.

But there was more to it.

She remembered Geralt's smile.

Wrinkles fanned out from the corners of his eyes, golden pupils sparkled, and his smile seemed bright.

Such a smile was supposed to feel warm, fulfilling, and light, as if filled by all the beautiful things in the world.

But no. The only thing she felt when she saw his smile was emptiness and cold.

A cold that soaked into the very bottom of marrow.

It was strange that Triss couldn’t see it.

But that was none of her business. She wrapped her coat tighter and walked towards the dock.

She needed men, right NOW!
When she imagined the scenes the strong wicther and her friend would do in the bed--that bed, she was as hungry as the most wanton whore at the cheap inn.

How many men did she need to satisfy herself? Two, or three?

She licked her lips for the lewd fantasy, much hungrier now.

She quickened her pace, her mind wandering as she reflected on her friend's romantic life.

How grateful and moved Triss had been upon hearing Geralt's declaration of love, immediately forgiving his deceit.

Lya snorted.

So what was love to men? Was love just escaping the dreamscape of lilac and gooseberries, only to turn and fall into the arms of the next redhead? Or being buried in one's body before declaring his love to another?

Fuck men! Fuck their love!

She was the wise one to never pursue something so-called love.

She chose to persue something more real. They were always honestly hard when she was naked, and always loyal and steadfas during the minutes in her cunt.

Fishy and rotten smell from the dock was carried by the wind. The vulgar noise of the men gradually grew louder, and Lya felt refreshed.

There was one last question.

Friendship.

She was Triss's friend, and she slept with Geralt. Triss was Yennefer's friend, and Triss slept with Geralt.

Was this really not a court satire comedy?

Perhaps not long after, Geralt would announce that he loved her.

The thought made her laugh absurdly.

Love was shit, so was friendship.

Only the happiness with the cock in her body mattered.

Because it was brief enough.

She stopped in her tracks, her gaze falling on a man by the roadside who was laughing loudly.

He was tall enough, strong enough, and he had a bunch of companions similar to him. His eyes met hers, gleaming with hunger.

She sighed contentedly.

-------------------------------

"Geralt."

"Mm."

Triss lay on the man's broad chest, her red hair scattered across his face. He chewed on a strand that fell to his lips, aimlessly staring at the gorgeously carved ceiling.

"Why Lya? Why sleep with her?" she asked softly, her voice trembling.

Why? She had already won him over, he had told her he loved her.

He had left Yennefer, following her to Kovir, like a loyal dog.

Why did she have to face such humiliation? To witness him and another woman, her friend, lying in her bed, their bed?

Geralt had never done this when he was with Yennefer.

The ghosts of the past revived, gnawing at her heart in the shadows where the light couldn't reach.

She remembered seeing him at Kaer Morhen, by then he had already broken up with Yennefer, but he chose to live like a cursed monk, haggard and aged, preferring to dwell in the hell of despair, pining for Yennefer, rather than accept her advances, even though she had completely abandoned her dignity, begging him shamelessly to make love to her.

Oh God, how she had dreamt of being that eternal woman in his heart. She was willing to trade everything she had for it.

Now she had her wish—by some means, he was her lover now.

But why, why wasn't his love as exclusive and faithful, as legendary and grand, as it had been for Yennefer?

She forced herself to think, maybe it wasn't that Geralt's love for her couldn't compare to his past for Yennefer, maybe it was just because of Lya.

Yes, it was Lya, the man harvester, who could attract men better than a succubus, since succubi didn't possess a human way of thinking. And Lya had a body modification no less inferior to that of a succubus, coupled with a mastery of men's psychology.

Even if it were Yennefer by Geralt's side, he would still be attracted to Lya.

It had to be.

She couldn't accept any other answer; it would drive her mad.

“Do you know the rumors about Lya?” she hurriedly said, afraid that if she spoke slowly, she would hear any answers from Geralt that she didn’t like, “She used the cunt of a female dolphin as material to reshape her own body. Because sailors always said that men who have been with a dolphin will no longer desire any human woman.”

Geralt rested one hand behind his head and wrapped the other around her back, carelessly stroking up and down. The rough callouses from his swords created a tingling sensation on her skin.

She emitted a content purr like a kitten, but then she suddenly froze.

His voice calmly spoke above her head, "Is this how you ruthlessly judge every one of your friends?"

He didn't wait for her reply, and continued, "Your friend Yennefer is a selfish, cold-hearted bitch; your friend Lya is a twisted, perverse bitch. And you, what kind of bitch are you?"

Her heart seemed to stop for a moment, blood rushing to her brain, surely reddening her face entirely.

She wanted to scream, to jump up, to blast him away with a thunder spell into the sea.

But he just quietly held her, his hand diligently stroking her as if those words were just casual small talk.

Why didn't he realise that this was a personal attack and humiliation to her face? Was she supposed to not care and respond as if it were a flirtatious banter?

Confused between anger and flirtation, she was undecided.

A chuckle came from above, "Ah, I see now. Triss Merigold of Maribor is a sweet, lovely, kind, affectionate bitch."

Triss looked up at him.

He too looked down, his eyes full of unmistakable affection.

She sighed deeply, letting out a stifled sob, "Oh, Geralt."

She wrapped her arms around his neck enthusiastically, pleadingly asking, "Say you love me, Geralt. Tell me you love me. Tell me I matter to you. Tell me you'll always be there for me." Her voice broke, "Because, Geralt, as you know, I’ve told you countless times. Without you, I can do nothing. What would I do without you?"

"I will be there for you," he whispered into her ear, his deep and raspy voice making her knees weak.

"Say you love me, Geralt," she turned her face, her hands moving to his jaw to lift his face, her eyes filled with tears, "Tell me."

His golden pupils looked at her for a long time.

"I love you, Triss."